#1: Guapo Miguel

#2: Bob Booreng

#3: Obediah

#4: Dudley Do Wrong

#5: Brian J. Blottie

#6: Big O

#7: The Flying Scotsman

#8: Ban X

#9: The Rebels

GUAPO MIGUEL

(The scene opens in a small wrestling gym, shabbilly built with real

fishermans ropes as ring ropes and wooden buckles...Into the picture

steps a hefty mexican man in Speedos...And right next to him..Another

one..The two look almost exactly identical..The one on the right begins

to speak..)

Greetings NACW...It is the true Guapo speaking to you from the lovely

Tijuana Gym that I train in...I must keep this beautiful body in shape

for all of my NACW matches..You will see my work..But first, I have

something to tell Mister Coats...Mister Coats...Why have you been using

my brother here, Guapo Julio, to pose as me, hmm? He is my sparring

partner, nothing in comparison to Guaponess...I will be showing up at

NACW arenas, Mister Coats....Looking to wow the fans with my beautiful

physique and my ring prowess...

(The two large Mexicans in speedos step into the ring..Miguel in white

speedos, the imposter Miguel in blue...The imposter lays down...And Guapo

climbs the wooden turnbuckle..the ring buckles...)

Guapo Miguel: I am going to show you my new and devastating finisher to

prove that those of us with beautiful bodies like this can soar

gracefully...

(Guapo stands on the top...back facing Julio, who has a mortified look on

his face...Then..A miracle...Miguel, airborne..And flipping over...With a

huge crash, he caves in the ring..His brother Julio has

disappeared...Guapo lays on what once was a canvas..)

Guapo: I call that..The Guaposault. And with that, I will make my mark in

the NACW...

(Guapo Miguel sits up and walks away..As the screen fades to black

focused on where Guapo Miguel landed, a chubby brown skinned hand pokes

through the rubble and a whine is heard...)

"No..Me..Gusta...EYE YEY YEY! Aggghhh....

BOB BOORENG

(The scene: NACW headquarters. Bob Booreng has just arrived in an

executive's office.)

NACW Executive: Thanks for coming in today Mr. Booreng. Before we can

let you wrestle, you need training. I suggest you find a good quality

school.

Booreng: I used to work in a for "Iron" Mike Sharpe's gym. I have

studied under great athletes like Rip Rogers and Barry Horowitz. I can

only hope to someday emulate their greatness.

NACW Executive: uh-huh…

Booreng: I like wrestling a lot. I have been watching since I was a

small child. I used to get into shows for free because my dad worked for

arenas as a zamboni driver. Those were the good old days.

(NACW Executive smiles to himself)

NACW Executive: You are truly a find. We may have a place for you here.

You could be a star! If you really prove yourself you might be able to

open some shows for us. You are such a big talent you will have to be

the first wrestler fans see.

Booreng: Wow, that sounds great. I bet only the very best wrestlers in

the company get to start the show off huh? You must really have a lot of

faith in me. Don't worry sir, I won't let you down.

I watched tapes of previous Slam Masters while I was washing windows in

the lobby today. I think I should start off against someone like that

Clumsy-son (Classon).

NACW Executive: Ummm, he is the world champion. We don't want to rush

you. (executive is doing his best to fight back laughter) I am sure

you'll get a shot at Classon (Yeah right!).

Booreng: What about Russell? He is injured right? I bet I could really

whup his sorry butt right now. But he is a nice guy… nevermind. I know

"The Revenger" is a bad bad man. He must be made to suffer for… I don't

know yet… But I am sure he is a very bad man.

(The NACW Executive blankly nods)

NACW Executive: We will see what we can do about getting you match

worthy of someone of your tremendous (almosting laughing out loud) and

prestrigous background. On your way out, could you vacuum the lobby?

Booreng: That would awesome, no prob sir!

OBEDIAH

<The scene opens in a brown field. there have been two rows of hte feild

plowed, and in the distance you can see a man plowing the fild with a

horse drawn plow. As the men gets closer we recognize the face of

Obediah, and his horse Jed. They stop next to the camera.>

Obediah: Mr. Faith has givin me his answer. It seems that he must put me

to the test, and yet I am the one who went to the word of God for

guidance in dealing with him. Mr. Faith, you seem to belive that crying

is a sign of weekness, well you are correct. Crying is a sign of

weekness, but it is also a sign of passion, and love. Several times in

the Wors we read that Jesus weeps for his people. Even Peter, the rock of

the church of Jesus has wept.

Obediah: "Then Peter remembered the words Jesus had spoken: 'Before the

rooster crows, you will disown me three times.' and he wept bitterly."

Peter wept because he failed to heed the word of the Lord Jesus. This

shalt be thine fate Mr. Faith. If thou heed not the word of Jesus thou

shalt wep bitterly upon learning of thine defeat at my hands.

<Obediah takes the harnes off of Jed and walkes toeard the barn. He puts

Jed away and walkes over to were Johnathan is waiting next to a make

shift wreastling ring>

Obediah: Have I failed the Lord Mr. Faith? I have just entered the NACW.

I am as new as you are. Purhaps you were sent to correct the mistakes of

others, but they must have been form a long time ago. I ask thou, what

right doth thou posses that thou may claim me a failure? It is surly not

by the Athority of the Almighty. Have I failed Mr. Faith? Yes, I have

failed. <Obediah's eyes light up with an intense anger> I have failed to

notice a false prophet at forst glance. I have failed my Lord by being

decived by a sinner so corrupted by the devil that his words are laced

with the suger of the devils lies. How old art thou Mr. Faith? 22, 23?

This is another of your many lies. If thou art only in thine 20's then

thou cans't have preached for 10 years. To become a preacher one must

have at minimum eight years of schooling on top of 12 years of

elemantary, and high school. Unless you are Amish, like myself. <Obediah

calms down a little before he continues> The very fact that thou praises

the skills of a sinner is proof that thou art a sinner, and false

prophet. By your association with the man named Dudley Do Wrong you have

shown your self as the sinner you are, and the Hand of God shall decend

upon you and punish you for hidding behind His most holy names. <Obediah

stares into the cammera, his eyes are once again filled with anger, and

rage> Mr. Dudley Do Wrong, I have prepared a new move for thou. Do not

worry, I will grant thine a chance at redemption by allowing you to step

into the ring with me once I have finnished the Lords work of redemption

on The false Prophet Mr. Faith. <Obediah looks away> Thou hath stated

thine stipulations False Prophet, now listen to mine. If the Lord is

generous enough to grant me victory on sunday you must join me in my holy

alliance, as stated. But before you are allowed to back to the ring thou

must pledge allegiance to the God of Abraham, Issac, and of Mosses, and

thou must renounce thine false identity, and claim the identity givin to

thou by thine mother. Once this is compleated thou must join me in a

match against Dudley Do Wrong, and the wreastler of his choice in a tag

team match. I will agree to fight Dudley Do Wrong if thou art fortunate

enough to defeat me, but be warned I will hunt you day and night untill

the true nature of your identity is revealed.

<Obediah walkes over to Johnathan and gives a demonstration of his new

move the Word of God (a reverse running bulldog) Then, standing over an

unconsious Johnathan, Obeidiah bows his head in prayer> Fade to black.

DUDLEY DO WRONG

[Fade into the parking lot outside Titan Towers. A rusty beat up cop car

pulls, the lights are flashing, but are smashed, and are barely clinging

to the top of the car. Dudley Do Wrong steps out, he's wearing his

"uniform" as well as a torn police cap, and reflective silver Oakley's.

He's chewing gum, and walks into the lot. An NACW reporter runs up.]

Reporter: Mr Dudley! Mr Dudley!

[Dudley pulls his gun out, points at the reporter]

Dudley: You are about to trespass on private property! One more step and

I'll take you into "custody"! [Grins devilishly]

Reporter: But I was sent to do an interview with you. We had a hell of a

time tracking you down, we didn't expect you turn up in Conneticut

though... and aren't you trespassing also?

Dudley: I'm here to impound a vehicle...

Reporter: Oh... but I thought the you were fired from the NYPD 6 months

ago!

[Dudley pistol whips the reporter, Dudley's eye's glaze over, he has a

faraway look in his eyes]

Dudley: GOD DAMN CHIEF! SAID I AS TOO VIOLENT STUPID PIECE OF SHIT! THOSE

PUNKS DESERVED TO BE BEATEN WITH THEIR SHOES! GOD DAMNIT THEY NEEDED IT!

Reporter: [Rubbing his head] Ok... what about your involvement with

Obediah and Mr. Faith. Mr. Faith seems like he trusts you, or at the

very least respects you. What sort of relationship do you two have?

Dudley: ...Mr. Faith and I... worked some of the same indies... he saw me

beat the crap out of everyone I faced... he obviously respects the badge.

Reporter: Ok... whatever... And what about Obediah. What are your

thoughts about him?

Dudley: [Jaw tightens, he stops chewing]: I've put an APB on that piece

of crap. He's wanted for a 316, a 420, and a 247.

Reporter: And those are?

Dudley: Illegal possesion of a gay ass beard, reckless use of a

horsewagon, and a PDP.((When did he possess marijuana? That's a 420,

after all - SC))

Reporter: What's a PDP?

Dudley: Puclic Display of Pussy-ness. Asshole cried because he's facing

Mr. Faith on sunday. That little piece of crap doesn't satnd a chance,

I'm lookin foward to beating the snot out of him... and if you'll excuse

me I have some official police business to take care of.

[Dudley walks towards a Black Jeep Cherokee, with a liscense plate that

reads "BIG BSMN". He reaches down to his belt, and pulls out a spray

can, then paints a handicap symbol on the ground.]

Dudley: Aww. Looks like someone is illegally parked. I guess I'm gonna

have to "impound" it.

[Dudley empties his gun into the cars tires and grill, then smashes the

windows with his mag lite. He covers the rear windshield with spray

paint, the spits out his gum, and sticks it to the rearview mirror.

Finally, he takes out a billy club, and beats in the hood. He walks back

to his car and drives away. BBM walks out, with some creamy white gunk

hanging out his mouth, he wipes it away with his hand, then licks his

hand.]

BBM: That was mmm-mm good... aw shoot! Mr. MACMAN! Mr. MACMAN!

[BBM runs back into Titan Towers. Fade out]

BRIAN J. BLOTTIE

*Open at a booth set-up outside of NACW Headquarters. The booth has a

sign, reading "NACW OPINION BOOTH". Fans are lined up beside the

building, all waiting to get their chance to speak at the booth. Cut to

inside the booth itself, where a fan, about 13 years old, is about to

give his opinion*

Poll Person: And what do you think about NACW newcomer, "The True Living

Legend" Brian J. Blottie?

Kid: I think he sucks. He's mean, stupid, and scared to face people

one-on- one. And this Sunday, he's gonna get taken out by "The Scottish

Monster"! And if he has a problem with that, he can SUCK IT!

*Kid points at his crotch, as the shot changes to yet another person

giving their opinion. This time it is an overweight male, mid-40's*

Fat Man: This kid Blottie, he thinks he's the <BLEEP>. I personally

think he is gonna go down this Sunday. He's in the ring with a fruitcake

and a REAL man in "The Scottish Monster". There's no chance in hell

he'll come out of that one with the win.

*Shot changes to a younger gentleman, in his early-20's*

Young man: Blottie? Hell, he's a great wrestler. Yeah, he didn't show

much at the PPV, but it was a battle royal. In the two matches prior, he

took them out, and even though they were jobbers, he made himself look

good against them. He'll probably win this Sunday, in order to push the

"True Living Legend" angle, but I don't particularly like his attitude...

*Finally, shot changes to Blottie himself, walking around in a very

serene setting. The road he is on has very little traffic, and he passes

by several large mansions as he walks. It looks as if it is going to

rain, and the wind seems to be picking up, blowing the jacket Blottie

wears, an "NACW Extremes" jacket, open to reveal his "Simply Legendary"

t-shirt. Blottie speaks as he walks*

Blottie: Not exactly the nicest day we've had in Michigan these past

couple days, but better than snow, that's for sure. I think Big O should

remember that I come from Michigan. The storm of '99 ring a bell? I've

dealt with enough snow in the past few monthes never to want to deal with

it again. In other words, you can take your Avalanche match and shove

it.

As for the comments made by the NACW fans... I respect their opinions

about as much as I respect some mongrel on the street, begging for food.

I don't care what they think of me, only what I think of me. And I think

I'm the best damn athlete the NACW has seen in a LONG time.

*Blottie turns to the camera, the smile that has been seen on his face

gone from the past few interviews. He seems very intense at this point*

Blottie: But still, I do take offense to people saying I'm CERTAIN to

lose this Sunday. I've trained just as hard as The Flying Scotsman, and

I can guran-DAMN-tee that I've trained harder than "The Scottish

Monster". That's why I respect the Scotsman, but don't respect "The

Monster". The Scotsman trains his ass off, walks into every battle as if

it were his last, and wins on a consistent basis. Whereas "The Monster"

can only make fun of "the retard" and call him names. I hope The Flying

Scotsman takes you out for good, McWhirter, 'cause you don't even deserve

a spot on the NACW roster, much less a match with two fine wrestling

specimens such as me and The Scotsman.

*Blottie resumes walking, picking up the pace a little. It becomes hard

for the camera to keep up*

Blottie: As for The Flying Scotsman, no matter what happens, whether I

beat your brains in or you beat mine, we'll still be "friends" to the

end. And you know what friends do, right? They defend each other. So

if anyone were to, say, run-in to attack me, I know you'd have my back,

correct? I mean, we are the BESTEST of friends...

*Blottie turns the corner, now at a jog. He begins running up his

driveway, the camera barely able to keep up. Blottie begins to talk

loudly, apparently knowing the camera is lagging behind him*

Blottie: And for all of the newcomers coming into the NACW, I wish you

the best of luck. Because if you ever step into the ring with "The TRUE

Living Legend", you certainly will need it. Today the number two

contender to the NACW Heavyweight title, tomorrow the world. And come

Sunday, yet another great win for the man. The man who would become a

legend. The man we call "The True Living Legend".

*Blottie runs up to his door, the camera almost catching up. Blottie

opens it, and walks in*

Blottie: Until next time...

*As the cameraman makes it to the door, Blottie slams it shut, driving

the door into the cameraman. The camera flies through the air,

spiraling, showing a spinning sea of trees, bushes, and shrubs. It

crashes to the ground, causing it to cut to static, and then FADE TO

BLACK*

BIG O

<The setting is the interior of Big O's cabin near B.F. British Columbia.

Big O and Runs-with-the-Pack are playing a game of poker, while Yukon

Jack is pacing the floor thinking about Sunday's match.>

Big O: Jack, why don't you sit down. You're starting to make me motion

sick, eh.

Jack: <sitting down> Sure. Say, what do you think about the new

wrestlers, Bob Booreng and Dudley Do Wrong?

Big O: Well, I think they'll fit into this league real well, eh. It

seems that they are just the type of wrestlers that Commisioner Pants is

looking for. Little Bobby Boring is a deadbeat with a great work ethic.

Seems like he fits in real well in a league where hard workers like

myself and 'Intesity' Josh Walters are shunned, eh. Then there is that

really cool guy who thinks he's the Big Boss Man. What's his name Baby

Size Shlong or something? He is a perfect fit. I mean look at his

gimmick, a bad cop. Perfect, what a fresh idea. The way he's going to

put himself over is really original too. I think his idea of beating up

an unsuspecting, average Joe who is minding his own business, for no

reason is just great, eh. This guy should be a favorite with Shane

Pants.

Jack: Why do you think the commish signs people like that?

Big O: <shaking his head> I don't know. I guess so that his comeback as

the "Semi-Star" will be easier. Think about it, if he keeps diluting the

NACW with two-bit punks who can't wrestle, eventually he'll be bound to

win a match. Then, the good wrestlers in the fed will realize it is

going to shit with half-ass jobbers and they'll leave for a competative

fed. With all the real stars gone, Shane will be able to win all of the

belts.

Jack: Be careful what you say Big O, the NACW is a good fed.

Big O: I know. It just makes me mad that half of the fed thinks it's ok

to just beat people up. It has to give the NACW a bad rep. Why doesn't

Pants reprimand them for their behavior, when I get yelled at for

name-calling, eh. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to show the NACW that

Big O is going to work his way to the top by good wrestling and hard

work, eh. I'm going to start with a crushing victory over Brand-Y this

weekend. Then, I fully intend on showing Pants that I deserve to be

ranked and be included in the hardcord tourny. I may not win that

tourny, but I sure am gonna take a few wrestlers down with me, eh. I

just keep hoping that I get a chance to face Shane.

Jack: Aren't you worried about Sunday's match?

Big O: Naw, why would I be worried. I know that I can beat Ban X.

There isn't anyone in this league that I can't take when I'm at the top

of my game.

Jack: But Ban X said that he could almost gurantee a victory over you,

because your a childish little punk who calls people names.

Big O: Let me tell you something about Brand-Y. I respect his wrestling

abilities. I respect him. But what does he do when I try and extend a

hand of friendship towards him, he tells me that he doesn't care. He

immediately ignores any friendly gestures I've made towards him, calls me

childish, dumb, and a subpar wrestler. He sides with Commisioner Pants.

But, why shouldn't he? After all he is one of Commisioner Pants' pet

wrestlers, along with Blottie and a few others. Who have you beat

Brand-Y? Have you defeated a ranked opponent like the Lima Bean yet?

Have you stepped into the ring and shown that you can wrestle with the

best in the business. I heard you crying about the Rookie Rumble, saying

that everyone was in it to try and get you. Bullshit. Look at the

Intensity, he single handedly fought off one of your biggest rivals for

over six minutes. I don't remember anyone ganging up on you and I know

that I wasn't gunning for you. If I had been after you Brand-Y, you'd

have realized when I Oblivorated your head through the canvas. So pull

up your skirt and quit bitching about being picked on, eh. For all the

talk Brand-Y does about being hard working and just your average wrestler

who gives it his all to make it in a tough league, he sure is starting to

come across as another pretty, rich boy commisioner kiss-up. Well

Brand-Y, if that's the case, then why don't you quit hiding behind the

mask of a hard worker and reveal yourself for who you are. You're

probably Lottie's brother. Brand-Y, I was going to go into this match

thinking it was against an opponent that I respected and liked. Thank

you for making me realize that your just another scumbag like Bean or

Blottie. On Sunday night, Brand-Y, you will be on your stomach begging

for the match to end as you writh in pain in the Obie. Beware Brand-Y,

for you've just made a friend into an enemy and the Canadian Storm is

coming.

THE FLYING SCOTSMAN

[Scotsman is shown on the streets of New York, wearing a 'Rob Trainor

screwed Rob Trainor' t-shirt. Hes also wearing a kilt, and dock martin

boots.]

[He approaches a newstand, and picks up the latest 'NACW Roleplay Wire'.

He reads it aloud, but is told to 'fuck off' as he is frightening the

customers.]

[Scotsman walks off with the RP Wire and studys it]

Scotsman: "Dudley Do Wrong? What kind of a name is..."

[He reads the rest of Dudley's RP, then jumps back, obviously scared]

"NOOOO!!! NOOO!!! THEY CAN'T LET HIM IN THE NACW!! HE SOUNDS CRAZY!!! HES

A MANIAC!!! SOMEONE HELP!!! I NEED A POLICEMAN!!!"

[Scotsman runs up to a policeman...then remembers that thats what Dudley

Do Wrong is..]

"NO!!! NO!! YOU ARE OUT TO GET ME!!!"

[He DDT's the policeman, and runs off into an alleyway]

"Ok..I will NOT read his interviews again. Holy. Man. Thats crazy.

Whats the NACW coming to when we are letting nutcases like that in? I'll

have to have a quiet word with Mr Coats about that."

"Mr Faith...I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but you're

starting to make me lose my temper. You're going on about Blottie not a

friend of me? It was him that told me McWhirter called me a retard! Hes

also introduced me to his special friend Mr Fisto!"

"So basically, stop with this crap! You must think you're one of these

hot internet reporters...well STOP MAKING STUFF UP! ITS NOT TRUE. I

SHOULD KNOW. JUST ASK BRIAN!! ARRGHH, I MEAN MR BLOTTIE!!"

[Scotsman stops and breathes for a bit]

"Just ask Mr Blottie..he'll tell you, we're friends. Good friends."

[Scotsman then looks worried, and starts scratching his head]

"WAIT A MINUTE!!! Uh oh..big trouble...I was meant to be looking after

Jeremy Rhodes..oh no, Mr Coats is going to get very very mad! NOOOO!!

NOOO!!!!"

[Scotsman starts looking around frantically]

"JERRRRRRRRRRRREMY!"

[He lifts up a trashcan]

"JERRRRRRRRRRRREMY!"

[He looks under his kilt]

"JERRRRRRRRRRRREMY!"

[He runs back out onto the street]

[He suddenly sees a woman in a wheelchair]

"THERE HE IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

[Scotsman runs over and grabs the woman out the wheelchair. She starts

screaming as he pulls her out of it, and starts dragging her into the

alleyway.]

"Calm down Jeremy. Daddys here. Calm down. Everythings good."

[She keeps screaming as he has her in the alleyway]

"SHUT UP JEREMY!"

[Scotsman kicks her in the face]

"Oh no..sorry Jeremy. Sorry....Jeremy..Jeremy..JEREMY?"

[She spits in Scotsmans face]

"What a second...you aren't Jeremy.....why are you impersonating him?"

[Scotsman picks her up and piledrives her on the concrete]

[He runs out, and picks up her wheelchair]

[He runs over to someone on the sidewalk]

"Excuse me...I am to wrestle for the NACW in Los Angeles, California this

Sunday...at the Dodger Stadium. Could you tell me what way it is to

there?"

[Person points]

"Thank you very much."

[Scotsman gets in the wheelchair, aims the way the person pointed, and

starts moving those wheels!]

"Tally-ho............see ya Sunday NACW!"

BAN X

<The scene opens at Ban X's house in Grapevine, Texas. He is gathering up

some stuff in his bedroom. The camera zooms in as he begins to speak.>

Ban X: Well, it's about time somebody got here. i was ready to leave

without giving some final words before I go off and meet Mr. O over on

Sunday.

Big O, this may not be my longest, greatest, or even funnest interview

given, but this is it. In just a few days, you & I will meet in that

ring. You, want to improve your record by seeing how you do against the

elite of the federation. I want to become that much closer to gettin' my

first title. It's a battle of what we want, nothing of anger, rage, or

even hatred, to my knowledge.

Big O, you acknowledge me as being *elite* or *great*. Well, when I look

in that mirror, all I see is a country-loving cowboy who loves to

wrestle. Am I good? Elite? Well, ask others who have previously wrestled

me. Some will say I'm good, some will say I suck(ed). But to me, I just

think of myself as a good wrestler.

As you seem to look forward to wrestling me Sunday, I guess, in a way, I

happen to be excited to wrestle you as well. It's my second match, and

what better way to show that I am the perfect man for the job to win that

NACW Hardcore, or maybe even someday, World Title, then by defeating a

man such as yourself. You may have the heart son, and you do have some

talent, but I'm afraid that's not good enough to beat me.

To beat me, one must know what I think, where I come from, and what I am

going to do next. The answer to all 3 is simply this; Nobody. Nobody,

knows what I think, where I come from, or what I'm gonna do next. I'm in

perfect shape to go out there, and kick somebody's arse from ringpost to

ringpost, and then lay my foot right here on your chin right there so you

can know exactly where X Marks The Spot.

Although I may be making some comments which, to no avail, have anything

to do with what you have previously said, let me tell you that they do

mean something to you, me, and everybody else.

Big O, you seem to have a few *friends* who watch your back.

Runs-with-the- pack, and a few others. But me, I'm all alone...with the

exception of knowing Soriano and Chameleon have my back, but I won't need

their assitance Sunday. Shall they offer, that's great, fine, and dandy,

but right now I'm not expecting him to show up. But who knows, he may or

may not. I guess we'll all just have to wait and see...

Mr. O, it looks like it's time for myself to get out of here and jump on

that airplane to get to the next event. Come prepared, I forewarn you.

But just don't take me lightly, as others have in the past, only to find

my foot saying hello to their chin.

<The scene fades to black as Ban X picks up his bag and jumps in his

Black 1994 Ford F-150.>

THE REBELS

The Revenger: This place seems awfully scary. And what's that I hear?

Blood Boy: Red Leaf, where are we?

Red Leaf: Red Leaf tell you in a second.

The Revenger: Its too dark in here... Let me turn on the light.

Blood Boy: Yeah.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf don't thin---

<Revenger turns the light on, to reveal right behind them, the cage of

rodents.>

The Revenger: What the---?

Blood Boy: Rats... Mice, and I think that's a little baby hampster.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf don't think so. It a baby mouse.

The Revenger: Well those pink babies are cool. Are they mice or rats?

Blood Boy: Hampsters?

Red Leaf: Red Leaf tell ya, not hampsters. Red Leaf think they mixed

breed.

The Revenger: Maybe they're inbred.

Blood Boy: Well, heh, maybe.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf don't want you to think that. Though they may be.

The Revenger: Are these wild or domestic, like domestic as in pet store

domestic.

Blood Boy: Ewwww... one just pee'd on another.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf bought two and they multiplied. Then Red Leaf took a

few wild rats and one or two wild mice, and Red Leaf mixed them.

The Revenger: That explains the dead mouse over there.

Blood Boy: Sure its dead?

Red Leaf: Red Leaf think that it may be. When they die, sometime Red Leaf

take it and spit on it and it come back once out of the twenty time.

The Revenger: Do you eat these things or something?

Blood Boy: I'm going to leave.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf wouldn't think of such a thing.

The Revenger: Good. You're atleast somewhat down to Earth with this

obsession.

Blood Boy: (sighs)

Red Leaf: Red Leaf never thought he wasn't. Red Leaf 100% down to Earth.

The Revenger: I don't think so.

Blood Boy: What do you do with these mice, rats and assorted mixtures?

Red Leaf: Red Leaf let them loose and see how many Red Leaf can catch.

Red Leaf usually only catch about three quar-ers of them.

<Red Leaf pulls a mouse out of his sock, it refuses to go back in the

cage, so he throws him against the wall, picks him up and puts him back

in.>

The Revenger: Is he dead?

Blood Boy: He's not moving.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf just keep them in there sometimes.

The Revenger: Don't you flush them, or bury them?

Blood Boy: Flushing would flood the toilet.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf don't have anywhere to put them.

The Revenger: Okay.

Blood Boy: Do you throw them out?

Red Leaf: Red Leaf wouldn't do such a thing.

The Revenger: Do you name them?

Blood Boy: If I were you, I'd name them all Stinky. Phew....

Red Leaf: Red Leaf name a few. Red Leaf name that one Fat, that one

Skinny and the other one there Extremely Obese. And those three who

always fight are Larry, Curley and Moe.

The Revenger: Well good luck with your match tomorrow.... I mean Sunday.

Blood Boy: Who are you facing? That guy Maniac.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf fight him on Sunday. Red Leaf can't wait to see it

when it come out.

The Revenger: Ummmm....

Blood Boy: You just said the wrong thing.

Red Leaf: Red Leaf can't wait for it, Red Leaf mean.

The Revenger: Alright. Revenge is so bitterly sweet.....